


Scarred Hearts

by Mandibles



Series: Teen Wolf Winter Advent Calendar thing [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A heart to heart triggered by a plastic Christmas tree, Angst, Bittersweet, Forgiveness, Gen, Winter, hale feels, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>December 2nd. Artificial Tree.</p><p>The Betas buy a tree for the Hale house and it’s both the best and worst thing to happen to Peter, Derek, and their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarred Hearts

Peter knows the Betas meant no harm by it, that they didn’t intend anything malicious, but, still when they drag it into the burnt corpse of the Hale house and begin to set it up in the skeleton of the living room, Derek just can’t stand it. He walks out without a word and breaks into after the last step off the porch. And, the pack he leaves behind can only stare, dumbfounded, as he disappears into the woods.

Except for Peter. Peter follows.

He doesn’t chase Derek, per se, not really, but he makes sure his nephew stays in sight, makes sure that he’s close enough for Derek to catch scent of him. And, sure enough, the shift ripples through Derek with a shiver and a low growl that Peter can feel in the pit of his stomach, but he swallows the urge to turn tail, continues to race through the chilly, frosted brush of a forest in winter. He continues to run, because he knows— _knows_ —that when Derek finally stops, he’s going to need someone there, someone who can take what he’ll break loose.

Because, despite it all—despite the fire, Laura’s murder, Scott, despite Peter’s unbridled insanity and rage—Derek is still his nephew. They are still family in some grotesque bastardization of the word, and family is there for each other, whether Derek likes it or not.

So, when Derek skids to a stop in the dirt and turns on him in an aggressive stance, eyes red and feral, Peter only ducks his head, bares his throat, in a submissive gesture.  When he finds Derek can’t seem to speak beyond grunts and snarls, Peter clears his throat, says, “They didn’t mean it, you know. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

Derek responds first with an angry huff, cracking knuckles. Then, he manages, “I know,” his voice torn, raw.

“And, this is how you handle it? By running away like a five-year-old?” There’s a growl; Peter ignores it, though he raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “Your Betas need a stable pack, Derek, a stable Alpha. They tried to leave you once. They’ll do it again and become Alpha chow for real the second time around.”

Derek’s growl falters, but continues full force when Peter takes a step forward. And, actually, that stings a little. Peter expected it, knows he deserves it, yet it still sends a pang to his burnt chest. He sighs deeply, meets Derek’s eyes head on.

“I’m sorry.” They’re empty words now and, from Peter’s tongue, practically an insult, he is sure, but, well. There they are. They’re said.

For a quick second, Peter thinks he’s spoken his last words and that Derek is preparing to launch at him, tear his throat; but, the thought’s gone as quickly as it came when Derek’s eyes flicker back to normal. Derek eases out of his tight stance and his chest from the exertion of his anger. They stay like that, Derek looking just about ready to collapse from his mess of anxiety and rage and grief and Peter watching patiently from afar.

It’s almost funny, all of this, in a dark kind of way, because it’s over a six-foot, plastic tree. Peter wants to laugh, crack a smile at least, but knows well enough to bite it back.

Finally, with an explosive sigh, Derek’s running his hands over his face and through his hair as he stomps around aimlessly. “I just—” he starts, truly starting to pace now. “I just couldn’t—I can’t. I—” He pauses both mouth and feet for a moment, then his tone turns accusatory. “Do you even remember any of it? At all? Do you remember what it was like before? Christmas?” he adds tightly, voice cracking.

And, Peter does actually, especially what Derek’s really referring to. He remembers those Decembers, those days when the pack—if not all then most of them—went out into the woods in search of their Christmas tree. It was a day-long affair that he remembers the pups looking forward to almost as dearly as the holiday itself, always in a rush to go through lunch to get their coats and snow boots and hats and run out into the forest. He remembers that last time before the fire most of all, when they’d managed, as a family, to kill a bear they’d stumbled across in their hunt.

He remembers that night so well, remembers being Derek’s mothers sous chef of sorts as the fixed the meat for dinner and he remembers Derek moaning about being on decoration duty with his much younger cousins. It had been a good night.

Peter flinches when he notices how his heartbeat picks up, when he notices that it’s there at all, because it’s just somehow it’s just so easy to forget that he isn’t dead. There’s a shuffle ahead and he looks up to find Derek stepping forward—one steps, two, three—closer, but still a good ways away. And, there’s something strange in the way Derek scrutinizes him, strange because it’s so familiar, like Derek sees the uncle he’d lost six years ago for the first time since he returned to Beacon Hills.

And, Peter sees much of the child in him, but he supposes that has always been there. Derek’s still that teenage boy Peter’s mind conjures; he hasn’t grown up from that, not really. Not yet. That realization might be what pushes Peter to close the distance between them, urges him to wrap an arm around Derek’s shoulders in an embrace. Derek bristles, remains stiff throughout it, but Peter expects no less from him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and it’s still so strange to hear from his own lips. He adds, “But, you need to. For their sakes. Even if it means you have to go in there and decorate it by your damn self.”

The, “You’re all those kids have, Derek.  _Shape up_ ,” goes unsaid, but Derek’s tightly pressed lips tell Peter the message got across. Derek looks reluctant yet oddly grateful when he wrenches away from his arms and silently brushes past him, back towards the Hale house. Peter waits until Derek disappears behind branches and bushes before following, frazzled by the reminder of the scarred heart that still beats in his chest.


End file.
